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‘Really.’ His words were dry. ‘Unfortunately, you didn’t choose the most opportune moment to tell me.’
‘It was the only one I had. I couldn’t get near you all evening, or work my way through the adoring crush.’ The unreasonable accusations of jealousy he had thrown at her had rankled for a long time, and Rosie subjected him to a steady stare. ‘Anyway, that’s all in the past. I’m puzzled why you think I could do you a favour, Corso. What possible use can I be when you’re one of the best-connected men in the world while I am just an ordinary woman?’
‘Perhaps that is the key to your usefulness,’ he mused. ‘The sheer ordinariness of your life.’ His rich gaze seared over her. ‘Forgive me if my words offend you.’
‘Why should they?’ she questioned, though of course—they did. ‘Like me, you are only stating facts.’
‘Indeed. You have a job on the railways, I understand?’
Did he really? Rosie wondered acidly. Could a man in his position everunderstandwhat it was like to work for a living, or worry about where his next meal was coming from?
She nodded. ‘I’m in charge of the catering trolley on the long-distance line which operates between Paddington and Cornwall.’ She stabbed her finger against the little red train logo above her breast. ‘This is my uniform, in case you were wondering.’
‘Indeed.’ He inclined his head. ‘I confess I was surprised when they told me. It isn’t the profession I would have mapped out for you.’
Instinctively, Rosie’s eyes narrowed. He must want something very badly if he was prepared to indulge in meaningless small talk like this. ‘Is that so?’ she questioned innocently. ‘What did you imagine me doing, Corso? I’m sure you must have given the matter a good deal of thought over the years.’
His brows narrowed, as if correctly sensing sarcasm. ‘Something to do with antiquities, perhaps,’ he suggested. ‘Or with art, or literature—fine-tuning the gifts you might have inherited from your father. Didn’t you used to help him? I often used to see the two of you dusting and polishing precious artefacts around the palace?’
She felt vulnerable then and wished she hadn’t challenged him. Ofcourseshe would have loved to have followed Lionel Forrester into his rarefied field of archaeology, but jobs like that were few and far between. And life had had other plans for her, waiting to emerge from the shadows, like spectres. Those same spectres swept into her mind now and she thought about the constant nag of debt. Of bankruptcy. Of human frailty and the depths to which someone would sink in their pursuit of love. A terrible sadness pierced her heart and it took a moment or two before she trusted herself to speak. ‘Yes, I used to help him in school holidays. He taught me all about Monterosso and its rich history and I was very grateful for that. Actually, I’ve been doing an online arts degree.’
‘So I understand.’
‘Your people found that out for you as well, did they?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s what I pay them for.’
‘I’ve submitted my dissertation,’ she explained, not quite knowing why she was telling him all this, other than the fact that—amazingly—he actually looked as if he were interested. ‘I just haven’t had the final degree yet.’
‘Which is why I am here today,’ he said. ‘If you are prepared to hear me out?’
It was so out of character for Corso to seek permission to speak that for a moment Rosie was startled into silence. She wanted to tell him no. To go away and leave her alone—taking his newly distracting presence with him. But she felt as if she had a duty to listen to what he had to say, because her dad had loved him. He had loved him like the son he’d never had and hadn’t she sometimes been jealous of that? And she was curious, too. Of course she was. Who wouldn’t be, in her position? ‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘Why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable?’
But he didn’t sit—as if the concept of comfort was irreconcilable with a place like this. He just continued to stand there, dominating the space around him with his hard and brilliant allure, and suddenly Rosie wanted to be as far away from him as was possible. She took off her bulky jacket and hung it on the back of one of the dining chairs, before perching on it, and from here it was impossible not to study him as she waited for him to speak.
He looked older, she thought—and his air of cynicism seemed even more pronounced. The lines around his lips were deeper and his flame-dark hair was flecked with the occasional strand of silver. His body had always been lean, but never had it looked harder than it did right now. As if he’d spent the last seven years banishing every ounce of softness from his frame. As if he were determined that each muscle should be honed and defined. And although he had clearly made an attempt to dress down in jeans and a dark leather jacket—presumably in an attempt to blend in and look ‘normal’—he had failed spectacularly, because his aristocratic lineage radiated from him like a precious aura. He exuded charisma and power and something else. She swallowed. Pure, raw sex appeal—there was no other way to describe it.
Rosie’s breasts tightened and she felt the wash of something warm and seductive, slowly unfurling inside her. Her breasts began to grow heavy and prickle at the tips. It was a deliciously distracting feeling and because she liked it too much, she wanted it gone. Unseen on her lap, she clenched her fingers, because she didn’t want to think of him this way. She didn’t want to think of him inanyway. She wanted her old immunity back and to be protected from this sudden aching awareness of her neglected body.
‘Okay, then. Enlighten me.’ She laid her palms flat on the table, directly in front of the vase of daffodils. ‘I’m all ears.’
Corso nodded, momentarily distracted by the gleam of her hair, which was a slightly paler shade than the flowers, before cursing the random nature of his thoughts. What a ridiculous thing to preoccupy him at a time like this!
He forced himself to concentrate.
How much to tell her?
How much did she need to know?
He felt the sudden clench of his heart.
As little as possible.
Because information was power—and right now he needed all the power he could retain. Wasn’t that one of his greatest fears—that the knowledge he had acquired spelled danger, not just to him, but to his country? That the past was going to rear its ugly head and impact dramatically on his future and the future of his people?
‘Your father was responsible for the discovery of Monterosso’s most significant and ancient artefacts,’ he said. ‘In particular, the jewellery collection of the country’s tragic young Queen, who died in childbirth, over four thousand years ago.’
‘Do you really think I need to be reminded of that?’ she answered quietly. ‘When the pursuit of that treasure was responsible for his own untimely death. If...if he hadn’t been so keen to get back to that underwater burial chamber a second time and had waited for back-up, he might still be alive today.’
